Vikram Kolmannskog

“Poetry is Possible” is a collection of some new and some old poems of mine. Available now in bookstores as well as online via Amazon and more “Vikram’s poems are lyrical and honest. Many of them beautifully capture the queer Indian experience in a way that has rarely been done before.”Udayan Dhar, founding editor of Pink Pages—India’s National LGBT Magazine.

“Vikram’s poetry intersects the fields of sexuality, sensuality, and the spiritual. His work shows that in every moment poetry is possible.”Ranvir Shah, curator of Poetry with Prakriti Festival.

“Passionate, vibrant, brave, and filled with love. A true bliss of a poetry book.”Hannah Wozene Kvam, slam poet, writer, member of the artist collective Queendom.

Two palm trees, tall, stand beautiful, The background a pure blue, not a single cloud to tarnish it, The two almost of equal height, with similar crowns, A symmetry and order, it feels good, But there’s something off, Something slightly frustrating, I notice they’re not entirely straight. Then I hear myself think straight And I start thinking of you and me and our love, And I find another kind of beauty in these two trees, A spaciousness and softness unnoticed till now, Just as they stand here, queer, And I wonder if completely straight palms exist at all.

I woke up sad, having dreamt or remembered a happy incident with him. Sad because I woke up without him. Sad because it was the past. Sitting in meditation, I suddenly smile. Smile because perhaps he is happy right now. Smile because with all the suffering in the world sometimes someone is happy. Smile because I can be happy when someone else is happy. Smile because in a sense someone else is not someone else. Smile because we are all already enlightened.

It made me think of us again. Those tentative first touches, your smell, hearts racing. But outside the bed so brutal, my silly rationalizations: Public displays of affection are just vulgar, I said, it’s not about being less gay.

Lo siento, mi amor. Of course it was. About being less gay. About the terror. I was terrified when you tried to kiss me at the station.

And then te acuerdas, that time I fell asleep on the bus, my head resting on your shoulder? I woke up to an angry voice, I did wake up, that white guy yelling at us, perverts, burn in hell, you yelling back. Hearts racing. I kept my eyes shut, pretending to still be asleep, only later asking qué pasó?

Lo siento, mi amor. I’ve been so proud of you. And I’ve been so ashamed of myself, for not fighting more, fighting for our love.

But now, writing this, I also see that eyes closed pretending to sleep, I at least remained with my head on your shoulder. At least I did that. While you yelled back. I hope you felt that.

And next time we meet, Orlando, for old times’ sake, for a future, let’s do a public display of affection. Hell, I’ll even sing your favorite song. Bésame, bésame mucho.